


And What's with the Strange Little Smile?

by teyla



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bondage, Consent Issues, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Short One Shot, Year That Never Was, general year that never was creepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/pseuds/teyla
Summary: After a long hard day of laying waste to planet Earth, all the Master wants is a sympathetic ear, but the Doctor's not being cooperative.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [Livejournal](http://t-eyla.livejournal.com/279082.html) in 2009.

The Doctor is lying in the dark. His hands are tied in front of him, resting on his stomach, the bonds rough against his naked skin. The covers are smooth underneath his bare back--skin that is smooth itself, at least temporarily. Later, the wrinkles of almost a millennium of age will crease it again, but right now, his body is that of a healthy man in his mid-thirties.

"It's a wonder how many of those places are still standing." The Master is lying next to the Doctor on top of the covers, fully clothed and without any bonds to keep him immobilized. The Doctor can't see him; the Master has turned off all lights in the master bedroom of the _Valiant_ , but he can hear him, can feel the shifting of the mattress when the Master moves, and can sense the Master's body heat close to his naked skin.

"Well." A chuckle. " _Were_ still standing. Le Musée du Louvre and the Hermitage, two architectural pieces of art holding centuries' worth of more pieces of art. _Human_ art." A finger trails a gentle path down the Doctor's arm, from shoulder to elbow. "I turned them into my idea of art, flames and fire and destruction. It's fleeting, but it was pretty while it lasted."

The Doctor stays silent. Eventually, the touch of the finger disappears.

"She didn't have any eyebrows, you know. Earth's most famous painting; I figured I'd take a look before I burned it. No eyebrows, and what's with the strange little--"

"Where's Lucy?"

It's a moment before the Master voice comes again. "Why do you want to know?"

"She's usually here. Where is she?"

"Not here."

Silence, then the mattress dips and the warmth of the Master's body moves away. There are footsteps, and a moment later the dull shine of dimmed artificial light breaks the darkness. The Doctor can see the Master, who has taken off his suit jacket and tie and is in the process of unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. The laser screwdriver is lying within reach on top of the bedroom cabinet.

"You used to be more fun, you know." The Master is throwing him a side glance, eyes narrowed. "You always were a pest, but at least you were a talking one." He picks up the screwdriver and absentmindedly weighs it in his hand while he peers into the mirror above the cabinet. "Did I finally manage to strike you speechless?"

The Doctor looks into the green eyes of the Master’s reflection. "Where's Lucy?"

There's a bang, followed by the sound of glass breaking. The Master has kicked the cabinet, causing a decorative vase to fall to the floor. "Fuck you, Doctor."

The Doctor can hear him draw in a deep breath before he turns around. The moment of uncontrolled anger has passed by the time the Master meets the Doctor's eyes. "You're boring me. No cookie. I think you'll be going back into your tent now."

He raises the screwdriver, and as the Master's finger tightens on the button, the Doctor closes his eyes, sending his mind away to travel the way he himself will be travelling once again very soon.


End file.
